Joshua 1:9: “Be strong and courageous.”

Reflection: Where do I need courage in my healing journey?

I’ve learned that healing doesn’t always ask for strength the way we imagine it. Sometimes it doesn’t ask for loud bravery or dramatic leaps. Sometimes it asks for quiet courage—the kind that makes your hands shake while your heart keeps walking anyway.

Right now, I need courage most in the spiritual parts of my healing.

My faith itself isn’t weak. My love for Jesus isn’t fragile. That’s not where the struggle lives. The struggle lives in the space between belief and practice. I feel tension between who I know God is calling me to be. I also fear how others will react if I actually follow that call.

I don’t go to church—not because I don’t love God, and not because I don’t believe. I don’t go because I’ve allowed fear to sit in the driver’s seat. Fear of judgment. Fear of disappointing my family. Fear of not practicing faith the “right” way. Fear of stepping outside the Catholic expectations I was raised with and being seen as wrong, rebellious, or lost.

So instead of choosing one path, I choose avoidance. And avoidance leaves me conflicted. Avoidance leaves me convicted. Avoidance leaves me feeling spiritually homesick.

There’s this quiet ache that comes from knowing you’re called deeper but staying shallow so no one gets uncomfortable. And I feel it every time I pray alone and wonder why I’m still afraid to worship publicly. I feel it when I talk to Jesus like a friend but hesitate to show up in community. I feel it when I realize that my relationship with God has been shaped by other people’s opinions. It is not rooted in His voice.

Healing is asking me for courage here. Not perfection. Not conformity. Courage. Courage to believe that God is not offended by my questions or my path. Courage to trust that my faith doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s’ to be real. Courage to show up somewhere—even imperfectly—rather than hiding in spiritual limbo.

Another place I need courage is in telling the truth. Not the dramatic, explosive truth—but the steady, grounded kind. The kind that doesn’t soften itself to keep the peace. The kind that doesn’t apologize for existing. The kind that speaks even when my voice shakes.

I’ve spent a lot of my life reading the room before reading my own heart. Measuring my words. Editing my truth. Anticipating reactions before I ever open my mouth. Somewhere along the way, survival taught me that being honest is dangerous. Speaking truth will sometimes cost me love, safety, or belonging.

But healing is unlearning that lie. I need courage to say what’s true without rehearsing how it will land. Courage to let people be uncomfortable without rushing to rescue them from it. Courage to trust that the right people won’t require me to shrink for them to stay.

I’m learning that silence can be just as damaging as dishonesty when it’s rooted in fear. That withholding my truth doesn’t actually protect me—it just keeps me disconnected. And I don’t want to heal into a quieter version of myself. I want to heal into a truer one.

This season of healing is asking me to be brave in places that don’t come with applause. Brave in my faith. Brave in my voice. Brave in my honesty. Brave enough to let God lead me—even if it disappoints people who were never meant to be my compass. And maybe courage, for me, doesn’t mean having no fear at all. Maybe it means choosing obedience over approval. Truth over comfort. Connection over silence.

Maybe courage is simply this: Taking one small step toward who I’m becoming, even when my hands are shaking.

✨ Closing Prayer

God,

Give me the courage to follow You without filtering myself through fear. Give me the courage to worship You freely, even when it looks different than what I was taught. Help me release the weight of other people’s expectations and rest in Your acceptance. Teach me to speak truth without shrinking and to trust that my voice matters. When fear tells me to stay quiet, remind me that You didn’t heal me just to keep me small. Lead me where You want me—not where I feel safest. And when courage feels heavy, remind me that You walk with me every step.

Amen

X.O.X.O. The Healing Wildflower